All God's Childern
by Blueroan
Summary: "We are all God's children, Dr. Cullen," she corrected me gently, "whether we walk on two legs or four ..." Carlisle is call out to the Atkinson farm where finds the Widow Atkinson in great distress   but he understands her sorrow. Can he help?


**NOTE: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters!**

_For my beloved furbaby, Bubba, who vanished without a trace over the weekend. You left my life just as suddenly and unexpectedly as you entered it. I will always miss you._

**All God's Children**

Carlisle:

Late evening light danced among the golden fall leaves, intensifying their color and making them seem to glow. I rolled the window of my Studebaker down allowing the crisp country air to flow in. As I turned off of State Road 73 onto the narrow dirt road that lead to the Atkinson farm I smiled. The countryside in this part of Missouri always reminded me of Columbus, where I first met Esme when she was a teenage girl.

Mrs. Clement, the stout and sturdy matron of the farm adjacent to the Atkinson place was the one who telephoned the clinic. It seemed the widow Atkinson was in a hysterical state and couldn't be consoled. As I was just coming on duty, Dr. Freeman dispatched me on the house call and insisted he would mind the clinic until I returned. As I continued up the narrow rutted path I tried to sort out what might be ailing the poor widow woman.

Eloise Atkinson had been widowed of some years now; her husband was killed in a combine accident. She lived alone on the huge farm ~ well, almost alone. While winter wheat and summer oats no longer grew in the fields, Eloise continued to tend her "flock" . . . a menagerie of fur and feathers. Her collection included several geese who never had to worry about being cooked and a one eyed donkey named Chester whom she all but stole from a traveling circuse. She had a number of goats who had a passion for stealing clean laundry off the line and fresh pies out of window sills. There was an ox named Samson and a dried up old dairy cow named Cleo. Burt was the lumbering swayback old plow horse that she rescued from the glue factory. She had an enormous sow pig that I estimated to weigh in at close to three hundred pounds and chickens of every sort imaginable. Rounding out her hodgepodge little family were four dogs one of which had only three legs, and a colony of barn cats. Noah and his ark had nothing on the widow Atkinson!

I first came to know the Widow on a warm spring evening soon after Edward, Esme and I moved to town. I was on my way out to see a patient down with chickenpox and had stopped off at Ziegler's drugstore to acquire some ointment for the boy to relieve his itching. The Widow was at the counter as I entered the store; she was placing an order for a compound similar to the one I sought.

"Oh thank you Ned," she hummed calmly to Mr. Ziegler, "Cleo is itching something awful. If you could mix the ointment while I do some other shopping, that would be splendid."

"Excuse me," I interrupted their conversation politely. "I couldn't help but overhearing. I'm the new doctor in town … Dr. Carlisle Cullen," I bowed deeply and then continued with my offer of service, "I'm out on a house call to the McMillan place, but once I'm done I wouldn't mind stopping by to look in on Cleo. How long has your daughter had the chicken pox?"

If I live to be as old as Aro, I will never forget the sound of Eloise Atkinson's laughter; it filled the small apothecary like the tolling of church bells and resonated off every object within the space. In spite of my confusion, I still managed a small smile. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out just why the woman was laughing at my earnest offer of help.

"Dr. Cullen," she finally began when her mirth subsided, "Your offer is quite generous and I thank you for it, but I doubt you'll want to treat my Cleo."

"Madam, I assure you I …"

"Cleo is my cow doctor," she interrupted me. "She has a rash on her udders … that's what the ointment is for."

"Forgive me," I pinched the bridge of my nose lightly as I tried to reconcile the Widow's words, "Your buying medicinal ointment for a … for a … cow?"

"We are all God's children, Dr. Cullen," she corrected me gently, "whether we walk on two legs or four, whether we have fur of fathers, whether we speak words as men do or bray like the ass that carried our Lord triumphantly into Jerusalem … we are all wrought by the hand of God and are therefore his children."

I did stop by her farm later that evening; to look in on the Widow and, of course, Cleo. Over the course of the next few years I developed something of an attachment to the independent minded 53 year old woman. Her affirmation that "we are all God's children" stuck with me, and watered the seed of hope and faith in my heart … the hope that we who are called evil and wicked and spawn of the devil might also be, in reality, children of God. I knew that when next we decided to move; Mrs. Atkinson would be one human that I would truly miss.

As I pulled into the farm yard, the glare of my headlight caught Mrs. Clement standing on the front porch; her husband was with her. Had I been human, I wouldn't have caught their argument.

"Hester, Why in thunder did you go and call for the doctor," Frank Clement asked his wife angrily. "This ain't a matter for doctoring … you're a waisten' the man's time."

"Well who else was I supposed to call Frank," she shot back hotly. Hester didn't come off as the type of woman who could be lorded over by anyone … not even her husband. "I couldn't very well go and call the Reverend over this … he thinks Eloise is crazy or possessed or maybe both. I certainly couldn't call Sheriff Huxley; what's he gona do, throw her in the jail until she quits cryn' and carrin' on."

I stepped out of my car, bag in hand; I tried to look as if I hadn't just been eavesdropping. "Good evening Mr. Clement," then I tipped my hat at Hester, "Mrs. Clement." After closing the car door I started for the porch; from inside the house I could hear poor Eloise sobbing and wailing. "Uhm, what seems to be the matter?"

Mr. and Mrs. Clement shared a long moment staring at each other before Hester addressed me, "I think it's best if Eloise tells you herself," a wail erupted from within the house interrupting Hester. When things were calmer, she added, "That is, if you can get her settled down long enough to talk."

I nodded grimly and started for the screen door. Behind me I heard Frank mutter, "A waist of the man's time."

I pushed Frank's comments aside and entered the house. Eloise was in the parlor, collapsed in a sobbing heap on the sofa by the hearth. The room was dimly lit so straight off I turned up the lamps; this was strictly for show of course.

"Eloise," I called her name softly as I knelt beside the sofa; long ago, at her insistence, I ceased calling her Mrs. Atkinson. "What's the matter now … what's all this fuss about?"

She looked up at me then; her eyes were rimmed in crimson and swollen from the apocalyptic flood of tears she'd shed. I smiled warmly at her and offered her my handkerchief.

"It's Pearl," she muttered as she whipped her face with my kerchief, "ripped her to pieces … she was pregnant you know. The babies was everywhere …" she started sobbing again before she could manage to say more.

I sighed as I patted her shoulder affectionately then I turned to Mrs. Clement, "A glass of water if you would, please." Instantly the matronly woman was off to the kitchen.

"There, there, now," I soothed the distraught widow. "When did this happen?"

"Last night … I suppose, "she sobbed, "Pearl wouldn't come in … on nice nights she likes to sleep on the porch." She wiped her face again, "I found her this morning down by the corn crib … she must have been hunting … mice …." Tears flowed anew as she barely finished her sentence.

Mrs. Clement arrived with the glass of water then and I nodded my thanks as I took it from her. After setting the glass on the end table I opened my bag and removed a bottle of laudanum and a spoon. A conservative dose of the opium based elixir would soon have the Widow resting comfortably. I carefully measured and mixed the draught before coaxing Eloise to take the glass.

"Drink it up my dear; it will make you feel much better."

"Pearl is gone," she moaned before taking a sip from the glass, "nothing will make that better."

I shushed her and encouraged her to continue drinking until she'd finished the glass; already her eyes were drooping.

"Where is Pearl?" I asked quietly as I took the empty glass from her hand.

"Tool shed," she replied groggily, "I found a hat box in the attic … I put what I could find of her and the babies in it."

"Is there a shovel in the tool shed?" I had visited her farm socially on a number of occasions, but I was never one to snoop.

She nodded weekly, soon she would be asleep. I turned then to Mrs. Clement who was standing close by, "Would you mind seeing Eloise upstairs and putting her to bed." Hester smiled sadly before taking the widow by the arm.

"Under the chestnut tree," she insisted as Hester started her up the stairs, "Pearl loved to climb the chestnut tree … after birds you know."

"Of course, under the chestnut tree then," I replied kindly.

When the two women disappeared up stairs, I started for the door and the sad task of laying Pearl to rest. As I passed him, Mr. Clement grabbed my shirt sleeve.

"I'm sorry about all this," he insisted, "my wife shouldn't have called you out here over a dead cat. It's a waste of your time; you should be helping sick folk instead of digging a hole under a tree in the dark."

"On the contrary Mr. Clement, it isn't a waste of time at all … I am honored to do this small kindness for Eloise."

"It's just a cat!" Frank groaned. "She's got a barn full of the wretched things."

"All God's children, Mr. Clement," I whispered reverently the I repeated the words Eloise had spoken to me years ago, "whether we walk on two legs or four, whether we have fur of fathers, whether we speak words as men do or bray like the ass that carried our Lord triumphantly into Jerusalem … we are all wrought by the hand of God and are therefore his children."

"What … you're starten' to sound like her," he nodded towards the stairs.

"You see a dead cat," I began my explanation, "Eloise see a dead friend … a friend who provide affection and companionship and who is now gone. Ever animal on this farm has a story, Mr. Clement, and they are all important members of her extended family ~ her children, her friends, her company in this cold lonely world. She and they, together, are all God's children. Your wife did right to call me; my good friend Eloise needed my help in this time of trial."

As I exited the house, Frank followed me out onto the porch. He didn't speak, but instead watched me in silence as I lit a coal oil lantern and then made my way towards the tool shed. I found a shovel and the rose colored hat box that contained the remains of Pearl and her unborn kittens. The smell of coyote mixed with the pungent odor of death and cat wafted off the box. I didn't need to open it to know what damage had been done; I'd seen coyote kills before.

An hour later I stood under the chestnut tree looking down at my handy work; hopefully the arrangement of stone over the grave would keep the wild things from digging it up. The fact that my vampire scent would cling to the area for many days to come would help as well.

"Thank you," Hester's voice startled me from my thoughts. "She's resting now. I'll come over in the morning and see how she's doing … I'll bring a basket of homemade biscuits and we can have coffee together."

I nodded and smiled sadly, "I'll come by as well, tomorrow evening perhaps. And look in on her again." Then I added, "She's going to be alright, our Eloise. This will be difficult journey, for all of us, but it will get better … weeping and sorrow may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning."


End file.
